


Honor-Bound

by Once_Upon_A_Thyme



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bondage and Discipline, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Consensual Spanking, Nonbinary Character, Original planet, Public Humiliation, Punishment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Once_Upon_A_Thyme/pseuds/Once_Upon_A_Thyme
Summary: On a mission to guard Ambassador Ren-Atha and convince the planet Thoia to join the Republic, Obi-Wan and Anakin find themselves unable to bridge the cultural gap between themselves and their hosts. In order to protect his "honor" and save any hope of convincing the Othians of his good intentions, Obi-Wan must punish Anakin for his rudeness to their hosts.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 96





	1. The Price of Honor

**Author's Note:**

> \- Anakin's spanking is non-consensual, so watch out if you need to. 
> 
> \- A note on pronouns: Ren-Atha, the Republic ambassador, is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns. Most Othians on the planet are also nonbinary, and Othian culture only uses they/them pronouns.

Anakin trudged through the snow-packed streets of Sha Linnoc with his hood up against the wind. He ducked under one of the high stone archways that the tour guide had said was only a third century addition. During the summer thaw the streets flooded and the whole city became an interconnecting system of canals, but in the winter (which was most of the year), the snow banks reached up to the top of the bridges made for pedestrians, which made life very inconvenient for someone as tall as him.

“Remind me why we’re taking a little midnight stroll on a freezing ice planet?” Anakin said.

“Out here there are no listening devices behind the sofa,” Obi-Wan said. “Now, I haven’t heard from Ambassador Ren-Atha in quite some time. They were supposed to contact me by radio an hour ago. We must be cautious, Anakin.” 

“Relax,” Anakin said. “They probably got held up in traffic or something. Maybe they’re sitting through another one of those long, pointless story-chants that seem to pass for entertainment here.” 

“The ruler of the empire that is so graciously hosting us has sent no word of whether we will be able to accompany Ren-Atha to their meeting. In fact, this sovereign hasn’t even agreed to meeting the ambassador in the first place. I’d say that given the circumstances, this calls for a bit of concern.” 

“Empire?” Anakin scoffed. “This is hardly more than a collection of city states. This ‘empire’ hardly stretches across a single continent.” 

“Well, the threat it poses to us at this moment makes it slightly more relevant,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Okay, fine. But what do you want us to do about it? We’re miles away from the capital, and all the roads are practically closed for the rest of the year. Our one ship is being analyzed by scientists to prove that we’re actually from another planet and aren’t just some crazy drug addicts. How are we going to reach Ren-Atha now?”

“We’ll simply have to negotiate with the locals,” Obi-Wan said. “They must have some information, after all, and it’s our duty ensure the ambassador’s safety and join them in their meeting with the ruler of this empire. We must not let this planet fall into Separatist hands.” 

“All right,” Anakin muttered, “all right. But I’m not drinking any more of that filthy, hot piss they call beer, no matter how rude it is to refuse.”

* * *

The next evening, despite Obi-Wan’s insistence that he merely wanted to talk, their host in the city of Sha Linnoc threw a lavish feast in their honor. Anakin suspected that it was merely to have an excuse to show off the two “aliens” to the host’s many rich and politically affiliated friends. And so at the Nineth Hour, their host, The Grand Duchy of the Othain Empire and Minister of the Viyska Oblast, Yevanak Shura iz Sha Linnoc, invited them to a late dinner. 

Despite his earlier statement, Anakin found himself reaching for the tankard of beer by his plate more and more often as the dinner went on. He might as well let Obi-Wan do the talking, since whenever he spoke, everyone and their grandmother within a mile’s radius seemed to be offended. However, it was hard to stay silent when the only decent things to eat were never offered to him. Every time Shura passed Obi-Wan a plate of thinly-cut steak, or those delicious fried buns filled with minced seafood, the plate was taken away by a servant before it reached him. After more than two weeks of eating nothing but gluey porridge and stringy, dried squid, it was quite frankly insulting. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan was saying. He gestured at Anakin with a glass of spiced wine in his hand. Even the wine was hot on this Force forsaken planet. “This is my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker.” 

Shura looked confused. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, honored traveler.” 

Obi-Wan tapped the universal translator at his ear. The infernal thing did tend to have problems with certain languages. “My apprentice. We are Jedi warriors who follow the path of the Force. We seek a peaceful world, one without this great war dividing the galaxies.”

Shura looked amused. “You are a warrior, and yet you seek peace? Interesting indeed, honored traveler. On this planet, we also have esteemed followers on the path to enlightenment, although none carry weapons such as yours.” 

Obi-Wan bowed his head modestly. “We participate in this war only so that it is not prolonged. Your help in facing the Separatists would be greatly appreciated, if you should find our cause worthy enough.”

“Come now,” Shura said. “Let’s have no more talk of politics at dinner. Tonight is a celebration.” They raised their wine glass. “To new worlds, new ideas, and new friends!” 

After several more toasts and two more courses which Anakin did not get to fully partake of, the long banquet table was cleared and the servants brought forward more hot, mulled wine and many trays of dice. Each person at the table turned to their neighbor, and the whole hall began playing matches of a gambling game involving a suit of cards and a handful of marked dice. No wine was placed in front of Anakin, and no dice either.

Shura dealt out the deck to themself and Obi-Wan, then explained the simple yet complex rules. The game was somehow tied to honor, and the wins or losses of each round didn’t seem to matter much as how shrewdly one played the game. After many rounds, Anakin began to grow more impatient. Although his gambling days were over (or so he told Obi-Wan), it would be a simple thing to beat the Minister at their own game. He wished Obi-Wan would make some excuse to leave already before the Minister brought out a story teller to sing one of those awful poem-chants.

“Master,” Anakin said, “perhaps we should retire for the evening. It’s getting late, and—” 

Shura, who had until then hardly seemed to notice Anakin, fixed him with a stern glance. “Honored guest Kenobi,” they said, “what peculiar customs you Jedi have. You let your apprentice sit at the table beside you as an equal, allow them to drink in your presence, and even interrupt your game of Kostyak. Forgive me for my rudeness, but has your apprentice no shame, nor you no honor? As your host and your friend, I cannot stand by any longer and watch your good name be defamed by this insolent child.” 

“Minister Yevanak,” Anakin ground out through his teeth, “I believe you are mistaken. I am Obi-Wan’s apprentice, not his slave.” 

Shura’s eyes widened, and their lips parted to reveal the slightly long and pointed incisors that marked them as an Othian. “Dear General Kenobi, I do not wish to meddle in another’s affairs, but as your host, any disrespect against you is twofold for me. I would be remiss if I allowed even the slightest blemish to your name under my roof. If you would like, I will have this insolent creature whipped in the courtyard immediately, if you do not wish to sully your hand. I sense that your apprentice is not new to this kind of disrespect, and it must be tiring to deal with such impudence after a time. It is no matter for my household—even the most honorable individual may take on an unworthy apprentice out of the graciousness of their own heart.” 

Shura spoke once again to Obi-Wan and didn’t give Anakin so much as another glance. It was as if he was a piece of furniture. Anakin’s blood boiled—it had been years since his childhood, but the feeling of being a slave was something that would stay singed onto his skin forever. His hand strayed to his belt. With his lightsaber on low-power mode, no permanent harm would come to the Minister, and he would see how much the Jedi valued their honor.

Obi-Wan put a hand on Anakin’s wrist beneath the table, partly in reassurance, and partly in warning. One misstep and everything they had worked for would go to waste. An entire planet would fall into the hands of the Separatists, and the ambassador’s life would be in grave danger, not to mention their own lives. 

“Thank you for your generous offer,” Obi-Wan said, “but I find that my Padawan responds best to my own discipline. I apologize for his uncouth behavior tonight—our culture is much different than your own, and he meant you no disrespect.” 

“But surely, you do not intend to let this kind of behavior go unpunished,” Shura said. At this point, all eyes in the room were on the two Jedi and the Minister. “Although any wise and honorable person may take on a troublesome apprentice, should such behavior go unchecked, it is the master’s honor who suffers. Even the kindest master does their apprentice a favor by punishing them, and all the better in public, so that the apprentice learns the humiliation that such rudeness brings. It is right and good that the apprentice be reprimanded immediately, by the master’s own hand or otherwise, so that everyone involved has their honor quickly restored.” 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat. He uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter at the table, but not before finishing the wine in his glass. “Of course, Minister—your reasoning is sound, and both my apprentice and I wish nothing but to put this situation far behind us as quickly as possible.” 

Anakin sat watching the scene unfold in a daze. Surely, this was not happening. Obi-Wan was not agreeing with this mad, foreign noble whose idea of an apprentice was some kind of slave or indentured servant to be treated as a child. This was simply not happening. 

“Come here, Anakin.” Obi-Wan pushed his chair away from the table and gestured to his lap. 

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan in shock. He couldn’t be serious. This was all a huge mistake. After all, Obi-Wan could talk his way out of anything. He must have been bluffing. It was all a bluff, and he would pretend to go along with this crazy Minister with great drama, and then they would laugh about it together back in their room.

“Now,” Obi-Wan snapped. 

Obi-Wan used the tone that really meant Anakin was in trouble, and before Anakin knew it, he had bent over his master’s lap. It was best to humor him. Anakin must act obedient, after all. He could fake it—feigning obedience was something he did best.

Even when Obi-Wan took off Anakin’s robe and loosened the drawstring of his pants, he assured himself it was no cause for concern. It was only when Obi-Wan’s hand came down with surprising force against his bare skin that a cold weight settled into his stomach. Anakin was no stranger to pain, and had taken many beatings before, but never like this. Never in such a humiliating position, even when he was a slave, and never at the hand of Obi-Wan himself. It was unthinkable, to be punished like a naughty child in front of an entire roomful of people.

Akakin’s shock was replaced by a heavy certainty as Obi-Wan continued to spank him at a steady pace. The blows only became more forceful, and each stinging slap of his master’s hand sent a flush creeping across Anakin’s skin until he was blushing all the way to his roots. Not only that, but he felt the heat from his backside, and he knew that it was a glowing pink for everyone to see. 

“M-Master, I—” 

“Quiet, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice was sharp and stern. Even when he was frustrated at Anakin, he never used such a tone. It was an angry, harsh, condescending tone that made Anakin simultaneously angry and ashamed. “You’ve deserved this punishment for a long time, and I’ve been too lenient of a Master. I should have put you across my knee ages ago. There’s no sense in talking your way out of it now—it’ll only earn you more of a spanking. You ought to be lucky I don’t take my belt to you here and now.” 

Anakin’s mouth would have gaped open if he hadn’t already been bent over Obi-Wan’s knee. Now didn’t feel like the time to press his luck by asking him what the hell was going on. His mind couldn’t even form a coherent sentence—all he saw was Obi-Wan’s brightly polished boots, and all he could hear was the loud slap of Obi-Wan’s hand against his ass. Everyone in the entire, long dining hall must be able to hear Obi-Wan spanking him.

After several minutes of hard spanking, Anakin wondered if maybe he had done something wrong, or if he really had made Obi-Wan angry. Perhaps he had made one too many sarcastic comments, or disobeyed him too many times? Perhaps he was just a spoiled, whiny brat who deserved nothing more than to be dropped back on Tatooine to serve out the rest of his pathetic life as a slave.

After all, he had nothing but cause Obi-Wan trouble since the day they met. Of course Obi-Wan would resent him—Anakin took away his childhood, his mentor. Obi-Wan had been saddled with him since he was still a Padawan, and Anakin had done nothing but make his life more difficult. It was only natural that his master want to punish him, and here, he could. As a Jedi such a method of discipline was rare and unorthodox, but here it was expected. 

When several more minutes had gone by, Anakin was starting to realize that this was going to be no easy punishment. His ass was stinging and raw, but it hardly qualified as very painful. But Anakin’s nonchalance only seemed to incense the Minister more, who insisted that Obi-Wan begin the real punishment, so that his apprentice would truly regret his actions. It was then that a servant brought Obi-Wan a large, heavy wooden paddle. At the first blow, Anakin bit his lip to stop from yelping. The paddle stung far more than he had anticipated, and it covered nearly his entire ass. Whatever his motives, Obi-Wan was not going to let him off easy. The next blow struck Anakin squarely on his upper thighs. 

“Fierfek!” Anakin hissed at Obi-Wan. Swearing was always more gratifying in Huttese. “Chuba dopa-meeky, dopa-maskey, karking wermo! E chu ta!” 

Obi-Wan stopped, and a hush came over the entire room. 

Anakin had forgotten the universal fucking translator. Of course, now was the time it decided to work properly. Now everyone had heard him call Obi-Wan a two-faced double-crossing fucking worm who could fuck off. Anakin decided that this day couldn’t get any worse. If Obi-Wan had been pretending before, now he was positively livid.

“If you ever speak that way to me again,” Obi-Wan said quietly, “I will punish you until you learn the manners I failed to teach you as a child.”

Anakin’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. He hadn’t called his master that since he was a boy, but he meant it now.

Obi-Wan brought the paddle down sharply again, this time spanking Anakin’s thighs in rapid succession until he was squirming. He would be a liar if he said it didn’t hurt. It hurt a fucking lot, and Obi-Wan pinned him down with a leg draped over his legs and his boot propped against the table. But what hurt more than the hard, relentless blows of the paddle was the lecture that Obi-Wan punctuated with each spank. 

“I am very disappointed in you, Anakin. I thought I taught you to be more mindful than this, but I suppose I did a poor job of it. You embarrass not only me, but ambassador Ren-Atha and the whole Jedi Order with your childish behavior.”

“Master, please!” Anakin cried. “I’m sorry!”

“You should have been grateful to be given the opportunity for such an important mission, and yet you jeopardize everything we’ve worked for with your foolish pride. I should have seen it sooner—it is my own fault for letting you become so willful that you would put your own pride over the safety of entire worlds. I should have punished you long ago. Maybe then we would not be in this situation.”

Anakin realized in consternation that tears were dripping onto Obi-Wan’s boots. What a childish thing, to cry from being whipped. The thought only made him more ashamed. And yet, he couldn’t deny the small, secret thrill thrumming within him with each smack of the paddle. But that too was only more damning evidence of his guilt. Put here on display for all to see, being spanked by his master like a disobedient child—it was a strange thrill indeed, one that he had always tried to ignore. But now it welled up within him with an unspeakable, unstoppable force that left him breathless. He bit his lip again to keep from moaning, but he could not stop from crying out as Obi-Wan continued to punish him. 

“P-please, Master!” Anakin sobbed. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Obi-Wan replied, landing a hard spank against the center of Anakin’s ass. His whole backside burned, throbbed, stung. It was as if Obi-Wan had repeatedly applied his lightsaber across Anakin’s bare skin in low-power mode. The sensation was familiar enough from countless duels, but it was magnified dozens of times, and the pain left him breathless and hot and wanting, so terribly wanting. 

Finally, Obi-Wan set the paddle down on the table and yanked Anakin’s pants back up. His fingers curled in Anakin’s hair, and with a sharp tug he forced Anakin to look him in the eyes.  
“I’ll deal with you later,” he said coldly. “Wait for me in your chambers, and don’t even think about disobeying. You’ve earned yourself enough punishment for the day. Do you understand me?” 

“Y-yes, sir.” Anakin sighed as Obi-Wan released him and sent him to their shared quarters with one last slap on the behind. The rough fabric of his pants grated against his sore skin, and his ears burned as the table filled with laughter. 

“Now,” Obi-Wan continued calmly. “Where were we, Minister Yevanak? Ah, yes—I recall. The round of the snake.”


	2. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Anakin's humiliating punishment, Anakin and Obi-Wan argue and things quickly get out of hand.

Anakin and Obi-Wan’s room was spacious and well-furnished, but it was hardly a consolation after Anakin had just been sent to his room like a chastised child. He lay face-down on the large, plush bed. There was only one bed, and now it was clear why. At first he had thought it was merely the custom here for travelers to sleep in the same bed, but now he realized that the bed was only for Obi-Wan. It was assumed that Anakin—as his apprentice, or servant, or whatever they thought he was—would sleep on the floor. 

His ass still stung from the spanking over an hour ago, and Obi-Wan was nowhere to be found. Not that Anakin wanted to find him, of course. After a stunt like that, he could freeze in the streets of this damned city for all Anakin cared. Yet still, there was a certain dread sitting in his stomach. Even if he had wanted to leave the room, Anakin thought it in his best interests to stay. 

He was no longer sure if Obi-Wan had been serious when he had told Anakin to go to their room and wait for him. His words certainly didn’t inspire any confidence. At best, they suggested another dull lecture on responsibility and adulthood, and at worst, another punishment. Although Obi-Wan had never before spanked him so ardently as he had that evening, Anakin did not want to find out if it was a new precedent.

Anakin tried to sleep, but each toss and turn reminded him sharply of his sore ass and the humiliation of being spanked in a room full of strangers by his master. Despite how much he tried to put it out of his mind, there was no meditating it away. He had never been good at meditating his worries away. Underneath the anger and the shame, there was something that scared him even more—lust. That was the only way to describe the fierce, hot desire that throbbed in time with the sting of his ass. 

He had no way to explain it, and he didn’t want to try. Anakin had spent his whole life pretending that those feelings didn’t exist, and he would be damned if he started facing them now. But he had to do something—he knew that Obi-Wan had noticed Anakin’s hardness on his thigh, and just the thought of it made him hard again. Anakin slipped his hand under his pants, determined to put an end to these feelings once and for all. 

It was then that Obi-Wan entered the room. Anakin shot up on the bed, endeavoring to look as unsuspicious as possible. 

“Fucking Force,” Anakin snapped. “Knock once in a while, why don’t you?” 

“Language,” Obi-Wan said sternly. “Or did that paddle teach you nothing?” 

Anakin flushed. “What makes you think you have the right to do something like that? They don’t even treat younglings that way in the Temple!” 

“You,” Obi-Wan said, “are not a youngling, and need I remind you that we most definitely not in the Temple. I did what I did in order to ensure our safety, and the safety of Ren-Asha.” 

Anakin got up from the bed and stood at his full height before Obi-Wan. “Is that what you call it, huh? You think I’m stupid enough to fall for your mind tricks? You did what you wanted to, because you can’t stand losing an ounce of control!” 

“Anakin, calm down.” Obi-Wan folded his hands in his robe. “You’re not being rational. I had to maintain my credibility to these people, and frankly, I’m disturbed that you find your own comfort to be a higher priority than our mission.” 

Anakin threw up his hands. “Let me guess—you’re disappointed in me, Master. Do you want me on my knees begging your forgiveness? Perhaps that would please you. I suppose I should be grateful you ever deemed to take on a Padawan who’s such a pathetic lifeform as me.”

“You’re taking this whole thing out of proportion,” Obi-Wan said. “And yes, I admit that I may have let my personal feelings influence my behavior earlier. For that, I am sorry. But I see no way you can effectively complete your mission by being so attached to your own pride!”

Obi-Wan stepped closer to Anakin until he could see the lamp reflecting the gold in his eyes and the hard set of his mouth. 

“You are my Padawan, Anakin, and I feel a great responsibility for your actions. I feel I have failed to teach you how to let go of your pride and be one with the Force. I had hoped that perhaps you would find some humility in this unfortunate experience, but I was wrong.” 

“You had no right!” Anakin shouted. “I am not anyone’s slave!”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed. “I had every right! You are my Padawan, and I am your Master. It is my duty to teach you to control your temper, otherwise one day it will get you killed!” 

Anakin trembled with rage, and the painted vase on the nightstand began to shake. It exploded into shards of porcelain that flew across the room and embedded into the other wall. Obi-Wan ducked without thinking, and his reflexive use of the Force pushed Anakin against the door.

“Anakin, are you all right?” Obi-Wan rushed to his side, but Anakin shook his arm off roughly. 

“Get off me,” he snarled. He flung open the door, but stopped when he saw drops of dark blood on the green and gold rug. “Master?” 

“It’s nothing,” Obi-Wan said quickly. He wiped a hand across his forehead but it came away smeared with blood.

Anakin grabbed his master’s arm and held it up to the light. There were several shards of porcelain embedded in his palm, and a bloody gash running from the bridge of his nose to his jaw.

“Master, I’m sorry—I lost control, I, I didn’t mean to—” 

“I know,” Obi-Wan said softly. “It’s okay, Anakin. It’s only a scratch.” He cupped his face in his hand and the blood dripped through his fingers, staining the sleeve of his robe.

“No,” Anakin said, “you need a medic. Don’t even try to remove those shards by yourself.” 

Obi-Wan gave a short, dry laugh. “Anakin, I’ve been in warzones. This is nothing.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Anakin placed his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Please forgive me, Master.” 

“Always,” Obi-Wan said. “And I truly am sorry for my actions today. I should have handled it far better. I hope I have not broken your trust beyond repair.” 

Anakin looked away, embarrassed. “No, I’ll live. I’ve been in warzones too, don’t you know. Now, come on. Let’s get you to a medic before our hosts find out you’ve ruined their fine rug.”

* * *

It was only back in their room that the unshakable, nervous dread of the evening subsided. It had been a simple thing for the medic to bandage Obi-Wan’s hand and clean up the cut on his face, even with the low level of technology these people had. The whole culture, while not primitive, had a slow-paced, stalwart, elegant feel, from the grand stone architecture to the two-stringed instruments that accompanied dinner. He had the feeling that life here had not changed much in thousands of years. 

It had been refined, perhaps, but there was no rush for these people. They had no drive to explore space, innovate technology, or even develop sophisticated central heating. Even the vehicles that he had seen travelling along the frozen rivers carrying supplies to villages went no faster than twenty five miles per hour. The mere concept of hyperspace jumps was unthinkable to these people, unnecessary. 

Despite his impatience with the chain of command and the ever-irritating bureaucracy of any given empire, it was almost relaxing to not have to worry about the war for a time. Here, there was no chance of being bombed in the middle of the night, no emergency drills with every siren quickening his pulse, no blaster-fire or lasers surrounding him for hours at a time. There was room to breathe here, and he did. 

Both he and Obi-Wan meditated before bed—he was so familiar with the pattern of Obi-Wan’s breathing that he could have picked it out of a crowded room. It was a comforting reassurance after the uncertainty of the day’s events. They decided to retire early, or what their hosts considered early. The Othians stayed up late as a rule, and slept well into the cold, dark hours of the morning. Perhaps it didn’t matter as much when the sun wouldn’t rise for another few months anyway. 

Anakin lay next to Obi-Wan in the dark, but couldn’t fall asleep. Every shift and turn reminded him of the evening’s humiliation, and his body hummed with a desperate, hot ache. It was impossible to sleep on nights like this. If he were on the ship he would have used this time to train—going through the basic forms helped his mind to relax and his body to become balanced. But now he could only meditate, and he didn’t relish the prospect of sitting with his thoughts any further than he already had. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured. “Try and sleep. It’s late.” 

“I already have, but my previous attempts haven’t been at all successful, Master.” Anakin sighed. Obi-Wan could sleep while piloting a ship—it was no great trouble for him.

Obi-Wan sat up and leaned against the headboard. “Is it because of today’s events? I’ll be far more mindful in the future—I should have known that with your upbringing it was a poor course of action.” 

“No, that’s…” Anakin thought for a moment. “That’s not it, Master. I mean, I’m used to it. My mother probably used to spank me thoroughly at least twice a week, but I’m sure I deserved it. Besides, she did it out of kindness and love, and never out of anger. To be a slave requires a very clear understanding of your place in the world, and I’m grateful to her for teaching me how to survive. But… I simply wasn’t expecting it. Not from you at least, Master.” 

Obi-Wan was quiet. “I never wanted you to feel unsafe as a Padawan. I wanted you to trust me, to know that I cared for you no matter what trouble you had gotten yourself into. And to tell the truth, I wasn’t sure how to be a Master myself.”

“I appreciate it, Master. I really do. It’s just…” Anakin bit his lip. 

“What is it?” Obi-Wan said. 

“You were always so distant,” Anakin said. “It was like when I’d look up at the sky on cloudless nights in Tatooine and see the stars. They looked so far away, I thought I would never reach them. All I could do was hope.” 

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan placed his hand hesitantly over his Padawan’s. “I never meant to keep so distant from you. I was hardly more than a child myself, and I knew nothing of how to teach someone as gifted and bright as you. And so I tried to make myself seem taller, older, wiser. Anything to make myself think that I was ready for such a task. The failings are mine.” 

Anakin laughed. “I was quite a handful all right.”

“You still are,” Obi-Wan said with a smile. 

“And I’m grateful for all your teachings, Master.” The words felt awkward in his mouth. Saying the truth was more vulnerable than being naked in front of a crowd. And yet, it was refreshing, and anything seemed possible in the still, soft darkness. “Even—even your punishments.” 

Anakin’s face flushed, and he hoped his hand was not as hot as it felt. 

Obi-Wan blinked in surprise, and before he could say anything Anakin yanked his hand back. It had been a mistake, a terrible mistake. How could he possibly think that saying such a thing was a remotely good idea? 

But Obi-Wan took his hand again, gently. His lips were parted and his eyes were luminous in the moonlight coming in through the window. “Well, perhaps if you find them instructive enough, a few arrangements could be made in the future. Purely consensual arrangements, of course, and on your own terms.” 

Anakin hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed Obi-Wan. His lips tasted of sweet spiced wine and strange fruit, and Obi-Wan’s mouth was molten, a hot wax seal that pressed against his own.

“Yes,” Anakin breathed. “I would… I would like that, Master.”

Obi-Wan ran his hand through Anakin’s hair and kissed him again. “Perhaps we can make up that distance now.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day,” Anakin said. “Perhaps this world isn’t so bad after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The ending of this chapter eluded me, so it's not as tight as I wanted it to be, but hey -- fanfiction is supposed to be less stressful than normal writing, so I'm leaving it be. Ostensibly, this is a hobby...
> 
> \- As with most of my projects, this one just wants to get longer. Stay tuned for more space opera adventures (and smut).

**Author's Note:**

> \- Thanks for reading, and may the Force be with you!


End file.
